


sweet lies are slow poison

by shiv (fantasyprone)



Category: Xena: Warrior Princess
Genre: Ares is the god of thirst more like, F/M, Meg gets lucky, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Xena hates Ares and so does Ares tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 15:06:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18919480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantasyprone/pseuds/shiv
Summary: Ares can't have Xena. He knows that, and he grudgingly respects that. But there's more than one woman running around with that face, and they're not all so principled - even a god's pride wears down after a while.





	sweet lies are slow poison

“You know I’m Meg, right?” she asks, a stupid grin on her face. “I know, I know, I have one of those faces, but I’m no warrior princess, I’m just… just Meg.”

  
“I’m aware,” he growls into his drink. The audacity of her, to even think that she compares! That audacity was the only part of her personality that reminded him of his favourite, really. If the rest of her hadn’t been inch-for-inch a perfect copy of Xena, he wouldn’t have been here - and yet here he was, in some filthy mortal tavern, pretending this was just where your average deity went for a good time. If any of the other gods ever caught wind of this, he’d be laughed out of the pantheon.

“So, you ever, uh, fraternize with mortals?” Meg eyes him suggestively from under half-lowered eyelids.

“From time to time,” he answers. She’s not Xena. Xena would never look so crudely at someone, no matter how much she desired them.

“Yeah, you seem like the type. Hey, don’t take it the wrong way,” she adds hastily when Ares shoots her a filthy look. “Us fraternizing kinds know our own, ya know?”

It’s beyond insulting, really. For a mortal of her station to talk that way to the god of war… and yet, he’s not smiting her with retributive lightning. He’s not even standing up and walking away.

“Been a while?”

“Not long enough, maybe.”

She hums as she takes another long drink of ale. “I feel like you’re not hanging around here for the conversation, though.”

“The drink, then?” He drains his mug and makes a face. Sometimes you’ve got to go to the mortal realm so that you appreciate the nectar of the gods when you get back to it.

“There’s better watering holes in this shitty town. Are you gonna make me say it?”

“Say what?” Warlords have shivered to hear that tone in his voice, but this woman just chuckles and shifts on the bench to rake her eyes over him. Not a drop of subtlety in her whole body, he thinks, but would he be here if there was?

“I feel like maybe you’re here for the company. Do gods get lonely?”

“I’m not lonely.”

"So, is this a she-looks-like-Xena thing?"

Huh. He hadn’t honestly thought she’d figure it out. It's been a while since a regular mortal surprised him. She sees him looking and takes another swig.

"Hey, don't treat me like an idiot. Gods don't slum it with the likes of me. You want me to play like I'm your favourite warrior woman, I can," she says, and she's not a good enough actor for that but maybe another few drinks and he won't care. "I've never taken a god to bed before."

“I’d have some serious questions if you had.” She doesn’t even pick up on the insult, just shrugs and runs her fingers up his well-muscled arm.

“I’m not hearing any denials, here.”

“Well, I guess that’s because I’m not giving you any.”

“So is that a yes?”

“It’s not a no. Not yet, anyway.” He shoots the bartender a look and gestures for another round of drinks. The stronger, the better.

A few drinks later, she broaches the topic again. “So, you and Xena…”

“What about it?”

“Tell me the story, war-god. Come on, there’s something going on there or you wouldn’t be hanging around little old me. What’s the situation?”

He sighs. “She was… my protege, perhaps. Best damn warlord this land has ever seen, and I’d know, I’ve seen them all. And then she changed.”

“Got morality, huh?”

“I don’t know. She turned her back on a god, on everything I’ve ever given her, everything I can offer-” he cuts himself off. This isn’t where he wanted the night to go. He doesn’t need this pathetic creature looking at him with Xena’s eyes, with hideous pity in those precious-beyond-measure eyes.

“Y’all were a couple?”

“That’s not the word for it.”

“You, y’know... though?” By all the gods of Olympus, this woman was obstinate. “You, uh, you were together?”

“Sometimes. A few times.”

“Oof. I’m guessin’ she did the leaving?”

His dark glance would answer that.

“I’m real sorry to hear it. She must’ve known she was leaving behind something special.”

“Yeah. A god.”

“I mean, yeah, obviously. But also…”

He knows how good he looks. He crafted this form himself. It’s flawless. But nothing made him feel as good in it as the face of this Xena-look-alike gazing at him, her eyes following every line of muscle, the deliberately deep V of his vest, the just-tight-enough leather pants. Mortal forms had their advantages, like the little electric feeling on his skin right now, the blood rushing in once-familiar veins.

“Couldn't you just…” she snaps her fingers, “make her come back?”

“Does sleeping with someone you know doesn't want you sound appealing to you? Please. I'm not Zeus.”

She lifts her eyebrows at that and nods into her cup, a kind of respect on her face. It was pathetic how good that made him feel - basic respect for basic decency from the most basic of mortals, but the mortal form he was wearing warmed all over just to see the approval on her.

“So, you were looking for someone else?”

“No.”

“But someone like her will do?”

He didn’t answer. He closed his eyes as she gravitated to him, luxuriating in the warmth of skin against skin as Meg leaned in, her lips inches from his own.

“You can call me Xena, if you want.”

“Shh. Just… just don’t talk.”

It takes effort, at first, to forget who’s in this (admittedly flawless) body. He trails his fingers up familiar arms, pushes aside that same hair and cups the back of her neck to bring their lips together. She tastes of mediocre ale but those soft lips are like coming home. A groan escapes him and he’d be embarrassed if it was actually her but he can’t stop, not for his godhood, not for anything.

A blink of power is all it takes to pull him and Meg out of the shitty alehouse they’d been in and into an opulent bedroom of his own making, draped in silks and shrouded in lamplight, a delicate incense lacing the air.

Just like the first time he brought her home.

Meg drops character immediately, of course. “Wow, that’s a neat trick! Is this place real? Is- is that wine?”

“Yes, and pour me one while you’re at it.” He’s going to need it. She finally notices that she’s wearing something different as she reaches for the jug, admiring the familiar bracers and leather of Xena’s armour.

“You don’t miss a detail, huh?”

“I’m willing to overlook a few.”

“Flatter a girl while you’re at it, huh?” She hands him an overfull cup and downs half of hers in a swig. “Alright, Ares, God of War - you like the title? I can work with that-”

“Just shut up, okay?” The wine is magnificent, of course, because he wouldn’t magic up anything less than the best. It’s a sin to drink it the way she does, but in fairness, he’s not much better. He needs a bit of a fuzz around the edges to work with this. “Stay quiet. Xena doesn’t get that chatty.” He presses his lips against hers to make a point more than anything else, but he should have known he’d get distracted. Meg knows what she’s doing in some regards, at least, the slightest gasp as her lips open under his, the tongue shy then firm against him, the hands that slide up his back to rest at his shoulders.

“Whatever you say,” she whispers, and he can forgive that because of the way it shoots up his spine and kindles heat in the pit of his belly. His arms snake around her and press their bodies together and it’s been far too long since he indulged in a mortal form, soft and warm and yielding and hard cool leather and metal at the same time, dizzying him like the finest of ambrosia, quickening his breath. It’s delicious and nowhere near enough, but he’s not going to cheat himself out of the slow dance of removing clothing, reaching for the clasps of her armour with clumsy fingers rather than the snap of magic. Xena- no, Meg - has managed to get her hands between them to pull at the ties of his vest, shoving it back over his shoulders, her lips tearing away from his to press open-mouthed kisses down his neck to his collarbone and he swears that these pants weren’t that tight just a minute ago.

He has to push her away for a moment to take off her outer layer of armour, and for a moment his resolution to keep this mortal wavers but the look in her eyes - “That,” he says, in a voice much rougher than he intended from a throat suddenly dry. “That look - yeah, keep that-” and then they’re crashing back together again. He walks her back towards the bed a step at a time, fumbling with the fasteners of her leathers, pulling off one bracer then another. She is surprised and falls backwards when her legs hit the bed and she squawks in a way he tries not to notice. She props herself up on her shoulders and her jaw hangs open as he sinks to his knees before her, reaching for the laces of her boots. He makes the mistake of meeting her gaze and his cock throbs almost painfully as the awe on her face hits him.

He briefly cherishes the fantasy that she’d play the Xena he wanted most - the one who put him on his knees and kept him there, the one he’d tell about the restraints hidden in the opulent bed furnishings - but no, not this poor imitation.

He busies himself removing her boots, trailing his fingers along her shapely calves as he pulls them off and tosses them aside. From here it’s so easy to slide his hands up her thighs, pressing them apart, slipping under the leather skirt and Xena’s - Meg’s - fingers are threading through his hair as his mouth follows hands. He grabs the back of her thighs and pulls her within reach and _gods_ , her scent! (He didn’t bother to put undergarments in this outfit, why would he?) His tongue is on her almost before he knows it and he treasures her gasp almost as much as the salt warmth against his face, licking between her lips and up to the bud of her clit. Meg is as subtle as he expects, but he can work with that - Xena isn’t exactly the kind to lie back patiently either and the too-tight pull on his hair is a delicious counterpoint to soft sweet flesh as he licks into her, thrusting his tongue inside before pulling back to circle her clit, sliding one hand to cup her ass as he brings the other to press one finger, then two into her.

Peering up from under his brows, he catches a glimpse of her face, staring down at him, flushed and panting and unable to look away. He crooks his fingers and she falls out of view with a cry and he smirks as best he can with his tongue on her clit, sucking it between his lips and playing with it. Her thighs tighten around his head as he works. He fights the urge to palm himself through his pants - there’ll be plenty of time for that later - as her voice rises, pleading incoherently as he finds that spot inside her that makes her scream and presses against it again and again and again-

It’s hard to breathe for a minute as her thighs clamp together and her body curls up against and around him and it’s indescribably satisfying to feel her orgasm clenching around his fingers, but it’s nothing compared to her whimpering his name as he eases her down from the peak. He pulls away from her oversensitive flesh, mouthing his way along her thighs, and back until he can sit back on his heels and stand again, never taking his eyes off the glow on her face. For a moment, he almost believes his own lies, that she’s here, that she’d come back to him- but Meg recovers quickly, hunger building again in her eyes. It’s the work of a moment to kick his own boots off and Meg grabs for the fasteners of his pants and oh, that’s gratifying, nearly as good as the feeling when she pushes them off his hips and gasps. He built this body, and he built it to impress, but it’s always nice to see his work appreciated.

“She left _this_ behind?”

“I thought I told you to be quiet.”

“Can do,” she says, and he doesn’t even have time to shimmy the tight leather off his legs before her hands and mouth are on him and god or not, it’s hard to stay on his feet. Xena knows her way around the bedroom but Meg might be able to give her a run for her money, he thinks distractedly as he runs his hands through her hair, her tongue teasing and soothing and perfect on overheated flesh.

The part of him that’s immortal and godly watches with detached pleasure, but the rest of him is drowning in sensation. Trying to tease out one feeling from another is impossible. Which was lips, which was tongue, which was gentle suction, which was the barest touch of teeth or the back of her throat? His body knows how to respond, fists clenching in her long hair, air ripping in and out of his lungs, thrusting against her until she grabs a hip with one hand to control him, the other hand still wrapped around the base of his cock. She pulls back for a moment to do something obscenely good with her tongue, swirling it around the head, still with her lips wrapped around him, and he knows it’s too much even as he looks down to watch her, branding the image into his memory, saving it and keeping it for the rest of eternity. It’s too much, and it’s too much again when she runs her tongue down the vein and it’s too much again when she follows it with her lips and it’s far, far too much when she inches her way down and it’s unbearable when she looks up at him as she hollows her cheeks and opens her throat and swallows him to the root. It’s all he can do to hold on, curling his body down over her, hands tight in her hair, trying not to listen to the deep and desperate noises that he can’t hold back. Time stretches out as she does _something_ , he doesn’t even know what it is but it feels incredible around him and for a moment he thinks he won’t even manage to fuck her - that won’t do.

“Stop,” he growls, and pulls her back by the hair as she laughs, her lips red and swollen and shiny with spit and she’s never looked so fucking good, he has to close his eyes for a second that feels like eternity so he doesn’t come right then and there. Why is she still wearing clothes? Why is he? That doesn’t seem right. Fuck this mortal bullshit, he decides, and with a snap of his fingers the leather’s gone and he pushes her back on the bed and climbs on top of her. The shock of warm skin against his chest is glorious, but he sits back on her thighs to finally get his hands on her breasts and they’re so soft, they’re hot, they’re heaving as she gasps under him and his thumbs brush over her nipples and he can’t keep his mouth away from them for a second longer. Meg arches under him and moans as he bites just hard enough on one, then the other.

“Ares,” Meg says in something approaching pleading, and he can’t wait.

“You want it?”

“ _Fuck_ , yes, please-” she’s hardly finished saying it before she trails off into a moan as he slides inside her, agonizingly slow, unstoppable, until he bottoms out and chokes on something that’s not quite a curse. It’s been far too long since he tried this in a mortal form; he can hardly remember how to fight back against the animal instincts that howl against his control to pound into her again and again until neither of them can hold on. That won’t do. That’s not good enough. He has this magnificent form under him, for once, finally, and he’s going to take his time no matter what it costs him.

He may not get this chance again.

So he pulls back, slowly, painfully slowly, watching her squirm under him before he presses in again, fucking her as slow as he can manage, drawing out the pleasure, making it last, adjusting just slightly so that he can hit that spot with every thrust. He plants one hand in the pillows next to her head and traces the other down her magnificent flank, gradually making his way to press his thumb against her clit and circle in time with each thrust, watching her come apart under him. Her eyes flutter closed and open again and lock onto his and his rhythm stutters, those incredibly blue eyes fixed on his, that face flushed and ecstatic and reverent and everything he’s ever wanted to see, he closes his eyes and presses his face into her neck to fight back the intensity for a second.

Meg’s too far gone, it feels like, her fingernails clawing at his back and small desperate noises coming out of her throat, then she curls up and bites into the flesh of his shoulder and he’s not sure how long he can hold out any more. She makes a noise, an animal cry and her body shakes as she comes around him, her walls clenching tighter than he was willing to believe, over and over. His voice is deep and unrestrained as he groans out the name he wasn’t going to use.

“Xena-”

“Ares,” she whispers against his ear and he’s undone, hips snapping forward once, twice, again and again until he’s spilling inside her, biting down on that spot where her neck meets shoulder until finally his body falls against her, sweaty and spent, one breath heaving through two bodies.

 

Meg stays uncharacteristically quiet for a while, long enough that he thinks she’s fallen asleep, but her warm body curls up against his after a few minutes, pulling a blanket that’s half pinned under them and doesn’t wrap around them both, but it’s a nice touch. He curls an arm around her and pulls her to rest against his chest, one hand stroking her hair - tangled, but still beautiful. From here, he can believe again, for a minute, that she’s come home to him. As long as he can hold that fantasy, he’s - astonishingly - perfectly happy. And so he lets her curl up to sleep against him, and he closes his eyes and lets the sweet lie consume him. For now.


End file.
